Jenna finishes unbuttoning her shirt, and Leary helps her to slide it from her shoulders.

“Your bra, too, Jenna,” she says.

Jenna reaches to a clasp in the front and releases it, pulling the cups back wide. I don’t look at her breasts at first, instead keeping my eyes on Jenna’s face. I wait for her to raise her head, then she pins me with a direct stare, lifting her chin up in defiance.

Finally, I lower my gaze, and I’ve never struggled with anything more in my life than I do to not let a look of disgust cross my features.

Jenna’s chest is truly mangled.

I’ve seen photos of the results, but they don’t do justice to the damage done. I let my eyes rove over the C-cup globes, still beautiful in their shape and roundness. But that beauty is completely marred by the left nipple, which is pulled grotesquely to the side by contracted scar tissue around her areola. There’s a large dimpled crater on her right breast, just below and to the right of her areola, two more smaller craters to the left, and worst of all, the tissue at the bottom of her areola is contracted and puckered so hard that it causes a small flap of skin to hang down in a V where the nipple hangs off the end.

It’s hideous, and my stomach churns for this poor woman, although I’m not admitting this has anything to do with negligence at this point, as Dr. Summerland and our expert witnesses agree he did nothing wrong in the surgery, and that this is just a normal risk of the procedure that can happen with scar tissue.

“Oh no, you don’t,” I hear Leary hiss, and my eyes leave Jenna’s mangled breasts. Leary is glaring at Tom. “Don’t you dare avert your eyes. You had the balls to deny this claim, landing us in this very room. You can at least have the balls to look upon this woman, who’s putting all of her pride aside to show you the horror of her life.”

“Leary,” I warn, knowing she’s crossed over a line now that’s not going to be acceptable to any judge. The last thing she needs is for Tom to report her behavior, which has gone from crusading to downright unprofessionally obnoxious.

She doesn’t even look at me but continues to pin Tom with her stare, daring him to look at Jenna’s breasts.

He refuses.

“I’m done here,” Tom mutters, pushing up from his chair. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Reeve, and we can discuss filing a motion for sanctions.”

I let out a sigh of frustration and run my hand through my hair as Tom storms from the room. Gravity seems to pull me down into a dejected slouch in my chair.

“You can get dressed, honey,” Leary says gently, and I don’t raise my face, allowing Jenna the privacy to put her clothes back on. The court reporter quickly packs up her equipment and leaves, promising to have the transcript ready in two weeks and sliding the bill for her services across the table to me. I take it, jam it into my briefcase, and then watch as Leary walks Jenna to the conference room door.

“You did great, Jenna,” Leary says softly, and then much to my surprise, she pulls Jenna into a hard hug. Leary holds on to her for a while, and I see Jenna’s fingers clutching Leary’s suit jacket almost in a desperate fashion. When they part, Leary squeezes Jenna’s shoulders and murmurs, “I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep and kiss Damien for me.”

My eyebrows rise over this display of care and affection Leary has toward her client and her child. It’s not natural, not in the normal course of business, but then again, Ford told me that the personal nature of this case to Leary goes far deeper than I could ever imagine.

When Jenna clears the door, Leary closes it and, with a tired sigh, makes her way back to the other side of the table to collect her belongings.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” I ask, not in a threatening manner, but genuinely confused by her bizarre behavior.

She shrugs as she starts laying documents on top of one another into one pile. “No idea what you mean.”

“Come on, Leary,” I say as I stand up and grab my briefcase. “You don’t have clients strip in depositions. There was no purpose, and it was nothing more than a stunt. It wasn’t even on video for the jury to see. You did it to embarrass Tom, and I want to know why.”

“You know why,” she snaps at me, eyes blazing. “He’s a prick. He denied the claim and then couldn’t even be bothered to look Jenna in the eye when she was answering your questions.”

“You went too far,” I admonish, not to make her feel bad, but to make sure she doesn’t do something like that again. “I’m going to have to talk Tom down off the ledge, but I think I can get him to let go of this stupid idea of sanctions.”

“I don’t need you defending me,” Leary says quietly, and I’m taken aback by the soft conviction in her voice. “I handle my own battles, and I pulled that little ‘stunt,’ as you called it, knowing damn good and well I could be sanctioned. I did it not caring if I get sanctioned. It was worth it to me to see that look on Tom’s face when I called him on the carpet about it.”

“What did you think about the look on my face?” I ask quietly.

Leary’s gaze lowers down to the table. She straightens the papers as she says, “You were empathetic to Jenna. It was subtle, but you were horrified by what you saw.”

“That I was,” I say tiredly, still sick at heart for what this woman endured and now perturbed that I’m worried about Leary getting sanctioned for her behavior. “Let’s get your things packed up and head out.”

“You still want me to come to your house?” Leary asks in surprise as her head snaps up.

“Well, yeah . . . I thought we discussed this.”

“But that was before I just pissed you off with my stunt,” she points out.

“You pissed me off earlier playing footsie with my cock, and that didn’t stop me from fucking your mouth, did it?”

Her lips turn upward and her eyes shine with amusement. “I suppose not.”

“Then rest assured, your little stunt isn’t going to stop me from fucking your pussy with my tongue and then my dick when we get to my place.”

I take immense pleasure in seeing Leary suppress a physical shudder that ripples through her body as her eyes grow hot.

“Then what are we waiting for?” she asks impishly.

I motion with my hand for her to precede me to the door. Just as she reaches it, I ask her something that is frankly driving me nuts. “What’s your relationship with Jenna?”

Leary doesn’t even stop to look at me. She pulls the door open. “She’s my client.”

“She’s more than that,” I assert as I follow her out.

“Yes, she is,” Leary says softly.

“Are you going to tell me?” I ask again.

“No, Reeve. I’m not,” she says with a firm tone that effectively shuts me down. And because we agreed that this is just physical, no-strings sex without the complications of commitment and all the other fuzzy things that might go with actually dating someone, I let it drop.

CHAPTER 9

LEARY

“Um . . . I need to warn you about Mr. Chico Taco before we go in,” Reeve says as we walk up the sidewalk to his front door. We’d taken separate cars—at my insistence—so I won’t be stranded if I want to leave. I’ve seen enough of Reeve’s domineering ways to know that if he doesn’t want me to leave, he’ll just refuse to take me home.

“Mr. Chico Taco?”

“My dog,” he says as he searches for his key ring to unlock the door. “He’s a little, um . . . exuberant.”